


Sins of The Father

by DetectiveIdiotBoy



Series: Idiot Savant [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: (very briefly) - Freeform, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugging, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, MacCready Is A Good Dad, Mild Gore, Near Death Experiences, Rescue Missions, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Treating injuries, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveIdiotBoy/pseuds/DetectiveIdiotBoy
Summary: “You’ve pushed your luck too far this time, MacCready,” Winlock said, stepping forward. MacCready refused to back up, standing his ground while being approached by the man built like a pre-war mansion. “We tried to warn you, tried to give you a fair shake and told you to get the hell out of town, so don’t try to pull some pitiful shit about us being unfair.”--The Gunners finally call to collect from MacCready, and they'll take their payment in blood. Thankfully, Hancock isn't going to let his favorite merc get hacked to bits by some trumped-up raiders with fancy shotguns. Nate may hate the guy, but when Hancock sends him out on a rescue mission with Nick to get MacCready back it's not like he's going to say no.
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Male Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready/Sole Survivor, Sole Survivor & Nick Valentine
Series: Idiot Savant [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031331
Comments: 13
Kudos: 42





	1. An asshole walks into a bar

**Author's Note:**

> I've already finished writing this fic plus a sequel. I'll try to update frequently so please subscribe/bookmark or just refresh the page to see more. This is not the first fic I've written for this fandom, but it is the first I finished so it's the first I'm publishing. Please enjoy!

Nate had been having a pretty good evening thus far; He’d beat the bad guys, rescued Kent, and put the whole Silver Shroud situation to bed once and for all. He’d even gifted Nick the coat after it was all over.

_(“You wouldn’t catch me disassembled in a back alley wearing that campy cartoon detective’s clothes.”)_

No appreciation for the classics, that one. Nate had to bully his friend into putting it on by sticking his arm through the new tears in his old coat and wiggling his fingers. Nick looked like he would rather be wearing a skirt and matching blouse as he sipped on his beer at the third rail. That sounded like fun, actually - Nate made a note to try getting Nick into a dress one day.

Magnolia was singing something original on stage tonight - peppy, fast, warm. It had Nate humming along and Nick gave the pretty singer a whistle after her set. She blew him a kiss and he tipped his hat before remembering that Nate had forced him to wear the matching Silver Shroud hat. He grimaced. Nate chuckled.

“You really hate that comic, huh?”

“Stupid,” Nick grumbled. “It was a dumb radio broadcast and an even dumber show.”

“How would you know? It never made it to air,” Nate reminded him.

“I read through some of the scripts while we were in the comic shop,” Nick admitted. “I can’t believe what some people think counts as ‘detective’ work.”

“This coming from the man who wore a trench coat and hat for the last 30 years while running across town shooting radioactive villains and rescuing damsels in distress,” Nate teased. He waved down Charlie for another beer. “Honestly, the outfit suits you more than it ever could have me.”

Nick grumbled something that was too quiet for a drunk Nate to make out. The outfit did look good on him - better than his bullet-torn coat with more patches than original fabric. Nick finished off the last of his drink before his eyes twitched; if they weren’t literally the brightest thing in the room Nate would have missed it entirely. Nick glanced over Nate’s shoulder for an instant before heaving some approximation of a sigh. “Christ. Don’t look now, but your ol’ hunting buddy just walked through the door.”

Nate had absolutely no idea who Nick was referring to. Sometimes he wished the old detective would stop talking like he was paid by the astute metaphor and just say what he meant. That was why he didn’t feel too bad for ignoring Nick’s instructions and immediately turning all the way around in his seat.

“Shit.” And he’d been having a good night too.  
MacCready trotted down the stairs, rifle slung over his shoulder and a sack of caps jiggling at his side, no doubt paid to him after he burned down an orphanage or robbed an old lady at gunpoint. There wasn’t a low that man wouldn’t (and hadn’t) sunk to earn his caps, and he was walking into the bar with that stupid, smug, shit-eating grin that made Nate want to give him an unlicenced face-job with his fists.

“Cool your jets, partner,” Nick said, gloved hand resting on his friend’s shoulder, “it ain’t worth the trouble of getting tossed out over.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nate said, realizing only after he said it that he said it through grit teeth. He let the tension in his hand go and slammed his beer onto the counter with a lot more force than intended. It wasn’t exactly subtle, and it brought one particular asshole’s attention right to them.

Nick sucked in a deep breath he didn’t really need. Wonderful. Just what tonight needed.  
“Hey there, _Boss_ ,” MacCready said with all the warmth of a dead polar bear in the middle of December. His face was stony and judgemental, meeting condemnation with condemnation in a silent (and ultimately stupid) battle of stares. MacCready raised a hand in greeting as he moved to slip past them. “Don’t mind me, just grabbin’ a drink before I head back.” He jerked his thumb towards the back room.

“Yeah, keep upwind of us Mac, I can still smell guts on your boots,” Nate said, pulling his bottle to his lips. MacCready’s eye twitched and Nick put his head in his hand. So they really were doing this, huh?

“You know somethin’, _Vaultsuit_ ,” MacCready snapped, shoving a finger in the man’s face. Nate’s glassy eyes stared at the offending appendage while MacCready ranted, “you don’t get to walk around up here with that self-righteous stick up your a- butt actin’ like you’re out to ‘save the Commonwealth from the savages.’ You’ve got just as much blood on your hands as I do.”

“At least the people I shoot deserve it,” Nate replied, voice full of manufactured pep.

MacCready slammed his hand on the counter and Charlie stopped filling up a glass at the tap - likely so he could come over and break up the two schoolyard brick heads before they got into another fight at the bar.  
Time for Nick to intervene.

“Alright, fellas,” He said, standing up. He put a hand on Nate’s shoulder and firmly pulled him off the stool. “Nate, let’s head out.” Nate shrugged off Nick's hand but didn’t let Nick walk off by himself. Nate’s glare never left MacCready as they headed for the door. Nick tipped his hat to the merc, cringing again when he remembered the ridiculous get-up his partner had shoved him in for the night. God, he couldn’t wait to get back into his own clothes. It probably wouldn’t be until after Ellie mended them, though.

“Hate that fucker.” Nate mumbled, kicking a can left outside the entrance to the old subway station. Steam left his mouth in puffs, dancing in the early December chill.

Nick shrugged. “He’s not that bad; comparatively.”

“Compared to what? A super mutant?” Nate raised a brow, both hands in his pockets. “Honestly Nick, you’re one of the last people I’d expect to like that guy.”

“I don’t hate him, not like you do,” Nick said. He paused to light a cigarette under the light of a city lamp post. “I don’t know what he did to piss you off so much, but he ain’t exactly the monster you got pictured in your head.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nate said with a snort. “The guy kills people, innocent people, for money! People like him are responsible for half your missing person cases.”

Nick knew better than to argue with a drunk man in a frenzy, but that didn’t mean he had to agree with him. He gave Nate a non-committal hum and pressed the cigarette between his lips.

“Can’t stand people like that.” Nate rambled, trudging through the streets towards the Hotel Rexford. “Met a lot of them in the army, back in the day. Join up, get themselves a scholarship and some sweet benefits, then go whole ham wipin’ out villages to up the body count for the day.”

”MacCready ain’t exactly a Raider.” Nick said. He never thought he would be defending the reputation of MacCready, but he’d pieced together a life story for the man over the past year that wasn’t exactly a happy picture. He seemed more desperate than depraved, something that was far too common these days.

“Worse. He’s a Gunner.” Nate said. Before Nick could argue the point of MacCready being an _ex_ -Gunner, Nate shook his head. “Look, let’s just drop it. The guy pisses me off, let’s leave it at that.”

“Fine by me,” Nick said. “Just try not to get into any more fights with the guy at Charlie’s - they don’t give out punch cards for a free drink after your third bar fight.”

Nate snorted. “Be one hell of a special around here. Put that place out of business in a week.”

“Probably get John out of the office, though,” Nick said, smiling. “Whether to break things up or to partake would be the only question.”  
The night was still salvageable for those two. Nate was back in a good mood, Nick was ready to get into their hotel room to take this goddamn coat off, and the two were still riding high from their completed quest with Kent.

The same could not be said for MacCready. Turns out, he wasn’t really thirsty after that. He sat there for less than a minute with his overpriced, watered-down beer staring back at him. Judging him. Stupid. He shouldn’t have bought it. He needed to save his money, even if he had felt like celebrating tonight. He’d gotten himself a bonus from his latest hire for sweeping the bodies out of the house he’d been hired to clear. Hadn’t even realized they had the extra caps, he just didn’t want his client’s kid coming into the building and seeing a bunch of squatters with their head blown off. A hundred extra caps meant he could afford to treat his friends down south to something a little extra on top of just providing for his kid. And there was a little leftover for a drink, so what was the harm? But seeing Nate's face made all the joy in his little treat fly out the window.

So MacCready skipped the beer, shoving it aside to head before he turned heel back the way he came. Ham raised a brow as he trudged up the stairs.

“If you’re lookin’ for the vault dweller, you just missed him.” He said. MacCready huffed, going for ‘humored’ but ending up with ‘offended’

“I wouldn’t want to see that stuck up jerk if he were the last man left in the Commonwealth,” MacCready said, already reaching for his cigarettes. “I’m gonna go smoke.”

“Alright, take it easy out there, Mac,” Ham said. MacCready gave him a quick two-finger salute on the way out. He liked the bouncer - he was friendly without being talkative or nosey, the perfect amount of interactable-ity for MacCready.

MacCready was used to the cold. He had gloves and a coat, both of which were pretty dry for just having come off a job. His socks were damp from a puddle he’d stepped in on the way back, but he couldn’t feel his toes anymore anyways, so it was probably fine.  
Amazingly, despite his darkest fears, the worst thing to happen to MacCready after leaving the Gunners hadn’t been retribution - Hancock had his back for that - it had actually come in the form of a sandy haired vault dweller riding a horse so high you’d swear he’d hit his head on the freeway. Nate had hired MacCready a little over a year ago, some time in November. He was fresh out of a vault and stumbling through the Commonwealth looking for “something” that was stolen from him. MacCready hadn’t really cared back then, and honestly? He still didn’t give a rat’s back what it was. After only two or three days MacCready figured out exactly how the man had gotten himself robbed; he was too damn nice.

MacCready should have seen it coming; he’d met several vault dwellers in his life, and they were all a bunch of sheltered babies. Hell, he’d even let that one Vaultie he'd met back in Little Lamplight in despite it’s “No Adults Allowed” rule because of how child-like they’d been.

But Nate felt different. He carried his gun on him at all times and wasn’t a half-bad shot when it came down to it. He wasn’t squeamish about digging through bodies or putting a bullet in the back of a Raider from time to time, and hell, MacCready would have admitted Nate was fun to talk with on the road - the man had a good sense of humor. It wasn’t until they got to Diamond City that MacCready realized just how reckless his client was.

His first clue was when that raider bitc- woman lured them into an ambush with some malarky about a dying friend. MacCready knew it was a trap, warned Nate it was a trap, and yet the man ran right on ahead, just on the off chance that there actually was a random lady he could watch bite it in a back alley. MacCready thought they were going to get killed there, took two bullets in the arm for that idiot, and in the end what he got for his efforts was a lecture about being more open to helping others.

He should have shoved the caps back in Nate’s face and told him to take a hike right there. But no, Nate paid well and was buying ammo for them both, so MacCready sucked it up and kept going - right into a super mutant warzone. Coulda run, could have just walked away, but nope - once again Nate had to be a hero and run blindly head into the building to help out the Diamond City guards who were getting annihilated by the mutants. MacCready had to shoot a pistol with his left hand while sticking himself with stimpacks to keep conscious. And at the end of it, when the two of them saved the entire useless forces from doing their only job, what did they get? Nothin’. Bupkis. Security didn’t even offer the two of them a stimpack or a round on the house. And Nate accepted that, said it was just them doing their ‘civic duty’.

And it just kept on like that, everywhere they went. Every sap with a sob story would get a hand from good ol’ Nate and his pet merc. MacCready had too much to live for to be risking his life for every single person he met. When he brought it up Nate had the gall to tell MacCready he shouldn’t be complaining when they were splitting the loot. Yeah, like MacCready really needed half of those fifty caps Nate was getting for wrestling Mirelurks for a baseball glove.

In the end, MacCready tried to be civil about the whole thing. He gave Nate back the advance he’d been paid, told him that they could travel again if Nate didn’t keep putting them both in the line of fire for strangers. And you know what Nate said? He told MacCready to keep the caps and shove ‘em. He gave MacCready an enumerated list of everything he didn’t like about him, from the way he talked to people right down to the fact that he doesn’t try to sympathize with the people he’s being paid to shoot.

_“You’re nothing but a Raider in a fancy coat conning people out of their caps. You don't care about anyone other than yourself.”_

And that was when MacCready broke his nose. He hated to admit it (or maybe he loved it) but it really did make him feel something good to see that slight crook on the nose on the man’s otherwise perfect, unscarred face. It was worth the broken finger and sixty caps for a stim.

MacCready was through with his cigarette before he was ready to stop smoking. He dug through his pocket for another. Tobacco… when all this crap was over that was another one that had to go. Killing too. Probably chems, as well. And hard liquor - beer was fine, though. He pinched the point right above the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t even noticed he was getting a headache, but there was that little jab again that came every time he talked to Nate. God _damn_ that Vaultie.

“Hey,” A voice came up from behind him. MacCready turned. Sh...oot. He had been so caught up in ranting to himself he forgot rule number one of Goodneighbor - don’t wander off alone in alleyways. MacCready did a quick sweep of the area he was stuck in. Deadend behind him, walls on either side, possibly could get some cover behind the dumpster. He didn’t have his pistol on him, but his rifle was still strapped to his back and loaded with at least ten shots.

“Hey Winlock,” MacCready said, feigning his friendliest tone. “Didn’t think I’d see you around Hancock’s neck of the woods again so soon.” He hoped the name drop would remind the Gunner why killing MacCready and turning his head into a fancy lawn decoration was an incredibly bad idea. “Look, I’d love to catch up with you about old times, but I’ve already had one too many conversations with an asshole today, so maybe we can save it for later?” He caught the slip-up way too late to correct it, but it hardly mattered with this guy.

“You’ve pushed your luck too far this time, MacCready,” Winlock said, stepping forward. MacCready refused to back up, standing his ground while being approached by the man built like a pre-war mansion. “We tried to warn you, tried to give you a fair shake and told you to get the hell out of town, so don’t try to pull some pitiful shit about us being unfair.”

MacCready scoffed. “The only thing ‘unfair’ here is you comin’ up against me two to one.” He craned his neck to see past Winlock. “Ain’t that right, Barnes?”

“Actually, you’re wrong,” A voice came from the bend in the alley, this time a woman’s. MacCready didn’t know her, but he did know how to count. One, two, three… oh no. The unfamiliar Gunner chuckled, crossing her arms. “This fair enough for you?”

There was an entourage of five gunners - Barnes, predictably, plus three other gunners, plus one smug Winlock. All of them were armed to the teeth with weapons in hand. MacCready’s heart stuttered in his chest, his fingers rolled the cigarette. This was bad. If they wanted MacCready dead they would have shot him in the back, and they wouldn’t have needed to bring this many people to do it. They were going to make an example out of him, and MacCready had seen enough gunner “examples” to know just how badly screwed he was.

MacCready swallowed hard and took a deep breath. A switch deep in his brain clicked, and MacCready was no longer thinking about the scene at the bar. Gone were the thoughts of Nate, wasted money on beer, his kid at home, his plans to storm Med-Tek - his one and only thought now was survival. He flicked his cigarette away, crushing it under his boot. He rolled his shoulders and tried to ignore the shaking feeling in his hands and knees.

“Heh, yeah that’s a little better,” MacCready said. “Now you creeps might actually stand a chance.”

He charged forward and slammed his elbow into Winlock’s stomach, catching him off guard. MacCready may not have a height or weight advantage (on really anyone) but he knew how to hit a man where it hurt. Winlock was stunned for a moment, making him the perfect human shield to stand between MacCready and the other Gunners while he unslung his rifle. Too slow, Winlock grabbed him by the arm and yanked MacCready off balance. His free hand gripped clumsily at his weapon, and he fired off two wild shots while being wrestled. One hit the ground, the other hit Winlock in the foot. He howled and crumpled, taking MacCready to the alley floor with him in a stumbling tangle of bodies.

The other gunners were closing in, and MacCready could feel his arm starting to bruise under Winlock’s tight grip. He threw his rifle up and tried to aim one-handedly. He fired and missed, and the recoil snapped the gun up against his jaw. Pain bloomed under his chin, blood pooled in his mouth - his backmost molar was loose. His wrist felt like he’d just caught a cinder block, but he squeezed his trigger finger again, catching the Gunner lady point-blank in the meat of her thigh.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” She screeched. Blood shot from her leg and painted the alley walls. She raised her shotgun in retaliation and bashed MacCready across the side of his face before stumbling and hitting the ground herself. MacCready’s head hit the pavement with a thud and a crack. His hat flew off and landed in front of him. He felt a warm wetness slick his hair. The blow itself closed up one of his eyes, and MacCready saw stars out the other. He thought he might have tried to fire his gun again, maybe even succeeded, but the next thing he knew clearly was the shattering agony of his trigger hand being ground into the pavement by a steel boot.

MacCready screamed, feeling a new pain rise through the fracture in his jaw and seer into the broken socket of his left eye. Someone shoved something into his mouth to keep him quiet, blood from his bit tongue seeping through the fabric and dripping into his scruff. The boot on his hand never let up. The bones in his hand creaked painfully before snapping under the pressure. The shards of his ruined bones pierced the flesh of his fingers and MacCready seized, flailing wildly with his free hand in some vain effort to ward off his attackers.

He thrashed, two gunners behind him pinning him down, two more in front of him bringing down blow after blow on the pinned merc. The foot came off his hand and dug into his ribs.

“Hey, that’s enough, that’s enough, morons!” Winlock snapped. “I want this fucker alive, understand? I want to show the recruits what happens when you decide going solo is better than staying with the crew.”

MacCready was hauled to his feet, held up by a Gunner hoisting his arms on either side. Even if he wanted to, MacCready didn’t think he could stand. Regardless, his feet scrambled under him, trying to get on the ground for some new feeble escape attempt. He wouldn’t go with them. He couldn’t die out here in the Commonwealth. Duncan still needed him. MacCready slung his head back, trying to catch the Gunner behind him. All he managed to do was give himself whiplash and the Gunners something to laugh at.

There was absolutely no doubt that they were going to kill him. MacCready still needed to find a cure, still needed to make enough money so he could fund an expedition into Med-Tek. He still needed to go home so he could be a father to his kid. He wasn’t done yet. He still had things he needed to do!

MacCready yelled again, this time hoping - praying - that someone would hear him behind the gag muffling his wails. That maybe the neighborhood watch would intervene since he was Handcock’s favorite merc. But of course, no one came. This was Goodneighbor. Everyone was out for themselves here, just like MacCready. If he saw someone in the position he was in right now, he knew he would just walk away.

A fist drove into MacCready’s stomach, making the double over with a sharp cough. He couldn’t get enough air through the gag, and he struggled to breathe through his nose. Barns grabbed MacCready by his bangs and yanked his head up.

“If you think you’re hurtin’ now, _fuckwad_ , just wait until we get you back to base.” He growled. MacCready stared back at him through fuzzy double vision. His head was swimming like a bad hangover, adrenaline worn thin and losing his battle with his concussion.

Barnes ordered the Gunners holding MacCready to take him out the back gates. Winlock ended up having to lean on Barnes to limp out with the hole in his foot. The fifth gunner was dead on the ground, bled dry from the shot to the leg. MacCready didn’t feel good about taking one down with him, not when it didn’t matter. He needed to kill all these fuckers before they killed him.

But that just wasn’t going to happen. His feet dragged against the ground and wouldn’t obey commands. MacCready’s head felt like a balloon filled with molten lead that was bubbling up around his swollen eye and mouth. He smelled burning copper and tasted blood, and at times he swore he heard Lucy say something he couldn’t make out in his ear.

MacCready’s screams tapered out and were replaced with pathetic whimpers when he heard the gates to Goodneighbor close behind him. His good eye stung with tears while his bad ached. Duncan… He had to make it back to Duncan. He couldn’t just leave him in the Wasteland. He didn’t want his son to be alone. MacCready had been dropped off in the wastes long before he was old enough to remember; the idea of his son growing up to forget MacCready’s face the way he had his parents made him want to scream.

Except it was worse than that - because without MacCready Duncan wasn’t going to grow up at all. He was going to die just like his father, likely just as slow and just as painfully, body ravaged by disease until it finally gave out. And there was nothing MacCready could do about it now because he felt the Gunners tie his arms behind his back and the sting of a needle pressed into his shoulder. 

Head swimming, MacCready was forced to submit as he was dragged away into the night.


	2. Breaking and Entering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Nate search for clues. MacCready has a bad time.

Hancock looked as he always did - comfortable, splayed out on his favorite sofa, huffing a canister of jet. His stolen historical artifact of a jacket hung neatly over his slender frame, tied off at the waist with a desecrated American flag. If Nate had any pre-war jingoism in him, it probably would have pissed him off something fierce. Good thing Nate had been a cynic all his life; even war and the army couldn’t inspire him to care so much about patriotism and the good of the nation. 

When he and Nick walked through the doors of the old state house Hancock sat up, giving the two a wild smile.

“Well hey there, Silver Shroud,” He said, addressing Nate. “How goes the crime-fighting? Catch any bad guys lately?” 

“Nah, I’m not doing that anymore,” Nate said with a shrug. “I gave the coat to Nick. Even got him to wear it in public for a night.”

“And I’m not putting the damn thing on ever again,” He said sharply. True enough, he had refused to wear it for the meeting, preferring his old coat - tears and all - to a tailor-made blazer untouched for centuries. 

Hancock snickered. “Ah, good to hear it. The voice was starting to get annoying, no offense.”

“None taken,” Nate said as he walked over to the guest couch in Hancock’s office. 

“So what did you want to see us for, John?” Nick asked, taking a seat beside Nate. “Fahrenheit said it was pretty serious.”

Hancock hummed. His thumb picked absently at the nearly empty canister of Jet with a soft _click_ _click click_. “So there’s been a bit of an _incident_ involving one of the resistance here in Goodneighbor. I hear you two are acquainted with MacCready, right?”

Nick’s mouth drew into a thin line and Nate sighed. 

“Christ, what did that sociopathic bastard do this time?” Nate said. 

“Nothin, nothin,” Hancock said with a wave. “The only thing he’s done wrong was get himself taken on a ride with a one-way ticket, you feel me?” 

Nate had no idea what that meant, but luckily Nick was there, and he was fluent in vague metaphors. 

“He’s been kidnapped?” Nick clarified. Hancock snapped his finger and pointed at Nick.

“That’s why I love when you’re around, Nick. You stay sharp,” Hancock said. 

“So why do you need us?” Nate asked, crossing his arms. “I know you had some sorta deal with the guy, but there’s gotta be other assholes with guns happy to shoot your enemies for caps.”

Hancock’s mouth twitched, and he leaned forward to put the canister of jet down on the coffee table before draping his arms over his legs. “Look, that ain’t how we operate here in Goodneighbor, you dig?” He said. “We don’t just replace our friends when we get tired of them like you do, no offense-”

“Some taken,” Nate interrupted.

“-and Mac is a friend here in Goodneighbor. Someone comes after a friend, it's an insult to us as a town, and an insult to me personally as the mayor, ya feel? I ain't just gonna let this slide.”

“Do you know for certain he’s been kidnapped?” Nick asked. “The guy might just be taking a job off the books.”

“I know because the Gunners sent me a little message, sayin’ they took MacCready for a walk yesterday and that they didn’t want it to come off like they were tryin’a pick a fight. Said it was personal business between them and him. Too bad, cuz I told them he was off-limits, so now it’s  _ my  _ personal business.” Hancock’s voice sounded darker than usual. There was always an air of danger that hung around the man just behind the cloud of jet fumes and cigarette smoke, but at the moment he sounded positively  _ murderous _ under his calm tones. 

“How do we know he’s still alive?” Nate did his best to say it respectfully. The last place Nate wanted to end up was Hancock’s shit list, even if he didn’t mind letting the merc swing. MacCready signed up to be a Gunner; if he got bumped off for his bad decisions that’s just one less problem Nate would have to shoot in the head later on. 

“I sent the Gunners a message back,” Hancock put his feet up on the table and draped his arm over the top of the sofa. “Told them I wanted MacCready back in mostly one piece, and I’d be willing to work out some sorta deal to make that happen. Seems like they believe it, cuz they’re sending a negotiator over here in two days to hash things out. Too bad I don’t negotiate.” He chuckled and flicked his knife open in his pocket. “Before I gut that fucker like a fish, though, I wanna make sure MacCready is safe and sound, you feel me?”

“You want us to get MacCready out of Gunner's hands in two days?” Nate asked, eyebrows raised. “Do you even know where he is?”

“Nah, but the Gunners who took him were part of Mac’s old crew. Find out where he used to work, and you’ll probably find him.”

“You got any leads to help get us started on the hunt?” Nick asked.

“I can give you the key to his room at the ‘Rail,” Hancock said. “After that, you’re on your own. I wouldn’t worry about not finding anything if I were you, Nicky. Your new partner may have more brick in his head than a pre-war townhouse, no offense-”

“I’m sorry, which part of that wasn’t meant to be offensive?” Nate interjected.

"-but he has blind luck like you wouldn’t believe. He’ll probably trip over a chair and find a tracking device with the receiver sewn into Mac’s coat.”

Nick chuckled and Nate shot him a betrayed glance. Nick nodded and stood up. “Alright, John, you can count on us,” He said, reaching for the key Hancock was holding out for him. “We’ll do our best to get MacCready back with as few holes in him as possible.”

“Thanks, friend,” Hancock said lazily. “And give that secretary of yours my regards when you get back home. Things around here just ain’t the same without Ellie stumbling out of the Third Rail at three in the morning singing  _ Uranium Fever _ .”

Nick laughed and led Nate out the door. The two descended the staircase and made their way back out onto the Goodneighbor streets.

“You alright with this?” Nick asked, glancing back at his partner. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t tell Hancock no the moment he mentioned MacCready’s name.”

“Well, you did kind of agree on my behalf,” Nate said with a shrug. “But I don’t think I would have turned down the job anyway. Hancock needs a favor, and I don’t mind helping him out, even if that does mean digging MacCready out of his own grave.”

Nick gave Nate a skeptical look. “You seem to do a lot of 'favors' for the mayor,” He noted. “You don’t have some sort of debt you’ve accumulated with him, do you?”

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Nate said with a wave. “He’s just a friend. I think. Honestly, I don’t know how he feels about me. I hope he likes me.”

Nick raised a brow. “You sure you're only lookin’ to be his friend?” 

Nate looked back and Nick with an oblivious stare. “Well yeah, I guess. Would be nice to have him and his city guard back the Minutemen, too. He seems like a pretty valuable ally - and an even worse enemy. Besides, I like being around him”

Christ, how did a man like him manage to get hitched? Nick would defend Nate to the ends of the earth for all their friendship was worth to him, but there wasn’t much he could say about Nate’s ability to pick up on subtlety. He didn’t agree with Hancock that Nate was dumb, per se, his head just worked a little differently from everyone else. 

That being said, Nick had a feeling he would be doing all the heavy lifting when it came to the 'deductive reasoning' stage of their rescue mission. 

\---

MacCready was cold. 

It didn’t help that his jacket had been snatched off him before being dropped off in the windy passages of the abandoned old-world interchange. Winlock had made a point of giving the old duster to one of the girls of the group barely out of her teens. ( _ "he's a tiny bastard, isn't he? It fits you perfect! Might even be a little tight on you.") _

MacCready was laid up on his side against the tire of a 200-year-old sports car, watching a group of Gunners sitting at a table across the division playing blackjack and drinking beer. He didn’t have the energy or presence of mind to be jealous, but his whole body ached when he looked at the fire they were keeping warm by. 

His right hand was a mess; even with stims, MacCready wasn’t certain it would heal right. They had tied his arms behind his back and it was a struggle to keep from leaning on the mangled mess of bones. It was the one part of his body that stubbornly refused to be cold and instead burned like a tire fire. A similar ache radiated from his busted jaw; every time he tried to move his mouth around the gag he would hear a loud (and painful)  _ snapping _ noise from just under his ear. 

His head still felt like it was full of sand, but it was better than it was when he was dragged in half-conscious and only barely aware. They’d drugged him with something on the way to the base, then again when they got there. Now that it was wearing off MacCready could taste dried blood on the gag against his dry tongue, and he eyed the condensation dripping off the beer as a Gunner took a sip. It was getting hard to swallow. 

Footsteps echoed through the old highway, growing louder with each step.

“Hey there, MacCready,” Winlock’s ugly voice rang around the time his boots came into view. MacCready raised his one good eye as far as it could go; he could just barely see the man’s chin. Winlock did him the service of crouching down so MacCready could get a good look at his nasty face. “How you feelin’?”

MacCready was exhausted, cold, and thirsty, but he still managed to wrinkle his nose and glared at Winlock. Must not have been as intimidating as he’d hoped, because the man just laughed and spit on him. 

“I got some good news for ya, you get to stay with us a little longer,” He said, ruffling the downed merc’s hair like a man with his favorite pet. “Turns out you made a pretty big impression on Hancock, he’s pretty desperate to get you back. I wonder what you had to do to impress a guy like  _ that _ .”

MacCready sneered at the implication, rage winning over mortal apathy for just another moment. Willson laughed and stood up again only to bring his foot down on the merc’s ribs, tipping him over from where he’s scooted against the tire so the entire weight of his body landed on his bad hand. 

MacCready  _ howled _ , vision going white as he jerked in his restraints. He felt the bones of his finger slide in his flesh, jamming against nerves and veins. The only other thing he was aware of outside of that mind-numbing agony was the seemingly distant sound of Winlock laughing at him. 

“God you’re pathetic,” He said, pressing a foot down on MacCready’s ribs. MacCready’s head jerked in shock, smacking against the pavement and reopening the wound there. He was breathing too fast, he couldn’t get enough air in through the gag, and his nose was filled with blood and mucus. “How did someone like you manage to swindle so many caps from us?” 

MacCready hadn’t stolen a  _ thing  _ from these freaks. He’d left and done his own thing, that was it. It was their stupid sense of ‘territory’ that got MacCready into trouble. 

“I’ll admit, hiding behind Hancock was pretty smart. Betcha had to do somethin’  _ real _ special to get on his good side,” Winlock put pressure on MacCready’s chest. MacCready’s lungs strained and he squeezed his eye shut against the torrent of sensations he was feeling. “I know you were desperate, man, but I honestly thought even  _ you  _ wouldn’t sink that low. Was sucking off a ghoul really better than running with us, Mac?”

MacCready tried to get a ‘Screw You’ out from behind the gag, but it was hardly intelligible between his throat-tearing coughs and the sandpaper weight of his tongue. His loose tooth wiggled painfully every time he tried to speak. He tried to focus on catching his breath, blocking out the incomprehensible feeling of bones out of place in his hand and the flood of agony that came with it.

“Guess you got a pretty enough face for that sort of thing - real feminine,” Winlock said, trailing his boot up from MacCready’s chest to rub the heel into his cheek. The crack in his jaw shrieked with the attention. “If I ever did swing that way I wouldn’t mind someone with pretty eyes like yours, even if one’s a bit more black than blue right now. Who knows, we’ve got some extra time on our hands now that the boys are headed back to Goodneighbor to talk to your sugar daddy, maybe I’ll give it a try. Give you a nice  _ going away  _ treat”

He was bluffing. (At least, MacCready hoped to whatever-god-wasn’t-listening that Winlock was bluffing) Winlock seemed to get off on putting other people in their place, he just wanted a reaction out of MacCready - and probably a submissive one at that. MacCready didn’t have much dignity left between being tied up, down a hand, and gagged, but he sure wasn’t going to let Winlock get his kicks by playing mind games. 

McCready coughed, glaring at Winlock with all the venom he had in his heart. He spit out something insulting that even he couldn’t understand under the gag. Winlock raised an eyebrow at him, mouth quirked in a self-satisfied smile. “Got somethin’ to say to me?” He grabbed MacCready’s head by the gag, yanking the knot at the back free. The roots of his damaged tooth crackled and threatened to give as the fabric was pulled out of his mouth. 

McCready took a quick breath, choked on it, and coughed. He cracked his eyes open, snarling at Winlock. 

“I said… you probably get enough of that… from your boyfriend… jerk…” He managed between coughs. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, collecting up moisture as Winlock opened his up in a laugh. Pros of growing up in Little Lamplight: when living in a town where roughly fifty-percent of the population is pre-adolescent boys, you learn how to spit in someone else’s mouth.

MacCready wasn’t sure if the ensuing hell storm was worth the absolutely  _ glorious _ moment of watching Winlock recoil in disgust and horror as he realized what just happened. MacCready at least got a good chuckle out of it (as did the rest of the Gunners, who had looked up from their cards to watch the scene.) Winlock was red from ear to ear; the whites of his eyes made a full circle around his irises and his teeth were grit hard enough to crush coal into diamonds. He yanked MacCready up by the hair, pulling him all the way to his feet where he struggled to balance on bound legs. 

“Think that’s fuckin’ funny, asswipe??” Winlock roared in MacCready’s ear. He threw the merc into the concrete divider. MacCready landed ribs first, crumbling down to his knees soon after impact. MacCready struggled to catch his breath, raw agony striking him every time his chest moved. He felt a hand grab him under the armpit from behind and hoist him up.

“I think it’s time for another lesson, don’t you agree?” Barnes’ voice was in his ear, breath hot on MacCready's neck. “It’s been less than a day and he’s already forgot what it feels like to break a bone. Let’s fix that, huh?” MacCready could only give off an agonized sigh - his ribs ached where they’d hit the concrete and it wouldn't let him get a good breath in. Winlock cracked his knuckles and wiped the bloody saliva away from his jaw with the back of his hand. He chuckled low and dark.

MacCready shut his good eye and tried to keep his mind occupied with thoughts of Lucy and Duncan. 

\---

“So what exactly are we looking for in here?” Nate asked, shuffling into the previously locked room behind Nick. 

“Anything that looks like it was from before he moved to Goodneighbor,” Nick said. His optics visibly adjusted to take in the room around them; Nate had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dark the old fashion way. It looked like it used to be a storage closet - the room was just barely big enough for two people to stand in comfortably alongside the bed and a dresser. At least searching every inch wasn't going to take too long. “And try to be respectful - I doubt MacCready would appreciate you poking around his personal effects for a look-see.” 

“I have more tact than that,” Nate returned. If he were honest, he wasn’t entirely comfortable being in the room at all. As much as he hated the guy, breaking into MacCready's room and rooting around in his stuff felt like a clear step over the line. He almost offered to wait outside while Nick looked around, but Nate had a habit of finding clues in odd places. For all the backhanded compliments and subtle insults, Hancock had at least one good point about him; If luck could be considered a skill, Nate had it in spade. 

So he poked around the drawers while Nick inspected the bed and stove set tucked away in the corner. The only thing of interest Nate found out from the drawers was that MacCready had an unusual number of socks, few of which matched. There was a handgun in the bottom drawer that seemed broken and a decently sized taped-up box of 10mm bullets. Nate went to pick up the gun (maybe it was a clue?) but when his hand brushed the box of bullets he didn’t hear anything inside. Huh. Empty? Nate lifted the box up; It felt heavier than an empty ammo box should.

Nate crouched down and carefully peeled the tape off the side of the box. The top came off fast like a spring-loaded toy from before the war, and for a second Nate thought he’d just sprung some sort of trap.

“Gha!” Nate dropped the box and fell backward, watching as its contents spilled across the backroom floor.

“What? What happened?” Nick had his pistol drawn and pointed at the nothing threatening his partner. He glanced down at Nate, who was flat on his ass in the middle of the aftermath of an eruption of papers that had come tumbling out of the ammo box like a geyser. 

“Nothin'. Just got jumpy,” Nate said, feeling hot in the cheeks. Thank god Nick wasn’t the type to laugh at other's misfortune; Nate’s dignity couldn’t take that much strain. He pulled himself back up to crouching over the mess, scooping the papers back up into the box. “I think I found something, though. Either MacCready was a secret short story author, or there’s some sort of letter collection here.” 

“Good work,” Nick said, helping Nate gather up the documents. “Let's bring these back into the light and see if there’s anything useful.”

The two left the closet-turned-bedroom and sat down in the bar's well-lit backroom that MacCready had worked out of. Nick took the stack and quickly began pouring over them. It made sense for him to do the reading; Nick was a faster reader than Nate, and it felt more professional for him to be scanning over the private documents of a missing person than someone who had once threatened to turn the aforementioned missing person’s skull inside out. 

Nate sat there awkwardly for a minute, not sure what to do with himself, before realizing he was still holding a piece of paper. It looked like an unsent letter - there was no stamp from a courier and there were written instructions to bring it to someplace in the Capital wasteland. Nate wouldn’t have given it a second thought if it weren’t for two little words that stuck out on the page, scrawled in MacCready’s messy handwriting. 

_ ‘My son’ _

MacCready’s… son? Suddenly, Nate couldn’t take his eyes off the paper. He started from the beginning.

_ im sending over 200 for the month. plese let me no if ther have ben any extruh axpensies, i want to make sure my son isnt puting a strane on ur finanses, i appuriciate everything u guys r doing for duncan and me. i havnt made any progres on geting the cure yet, but i still have thos codes sinclair gav me. wen i find a way to safly get into medtek i’ll send for duncan. take care out there.  _

“Holy shit, MacCready has a kid,” Nate said. Nick nodded along, not looking up from the letters he was breezing through.

“Seems that way,” Nick replied. “Going off the letters it looks like the kid ain’t doin’ too well - whatever he’s got it looks to be terminal. Kid’s been living with some friends of MacCready’s back in the Capital since he came here lookin’ for a cure. I’m guessing the mother’s not in the picture anymore.”

“You’re not surprised??” Nate said, still reeling from this new information while watching Nick shrug it off.

“I’d kind of already put most of this together myself,” Nick admitted. “He’s always taking jobs but never holds on to the caps, and he doesn’t look like he’s spending big either - not the kind of guy running up tabs anywhere. Couriers know him by name, which typically happens when someone sends letters frequently. And then there’s that tic of his every time he swears - people who do that are mostly parents whose kids have reached the age where profanities are just about the only words that stick in their heads.”

Nate was slack-jawed, rendered speechless by his partner’s detective skills, and by the knowledge that MacCready had a  _ fucking kid _ . And not just some unnamed bastard he put in a girl back in the Capital either; MacCready was a single father whose every payday got sent back to cover his kid’s room, board, and medical expenses. A father who had traveled hundreds of miles from home on the impossible hope of curing his son’s illness. 

Nate thought back to the night MacCready caved in his nose. What had the fight started over? He had snapped at MacCready about being selfish and only caring about himself. MacCready had been pissed because he had almost gotten caught in the blast of a super mutant suicider when Nate shot it to save a fleeing settler.

_ “I almost freaking died!!” _

_ “But you didn’t, and we saved that guy’s life!” _

_ “Who cares?? I don’t even know that jerk’s name! I can’t die out here, Nate. I still got sh-ugh. I still got stuff to do.” _

_ “Like what? You’re a merc, aren’t you? Risking your life is part of the job.” _

_ “Not for them, Boss. I’m sorry, but I just… can’t- you can, I get that, but I can’t.” _

Oh. So that’s what he had to do. MacCready had a kid. Nate felt a hole open up in his heart, the one put there a year ago when he last saw his own son pulled from the limp arms of his wife’s corpse. His baby, who was now ten years old, possibly even older, in the clutches of the Institute - a facility that no one on the outside knew how to get into, save for one missing scientist who no one had seen in years. What had Nate done recently for his kid? He'd killed the bastard that took his family from him, sure, ripped that fucker's brain right out of the dead man's skull, and dove into his memories just to find out that Nate had missed most of Shaun's childhood. Since then, Nate had been hanging around Goodneighbor. He'd met Kent and when the guy asked him to play superhero how could Nate say no? Kent seemed like a good guy and he was going to get himself killed trying to recreate those comics from the seventies. Nate couldn't let a good man suffer and die - that didn't mean he wasn't a good parent, right? 

Had Nate given up on Shaun and not even noticed? He didn’t think so. He was just… looking in different places for ways to get to his son. He’s been building up the Minutemen for months and getting in good with the Goodneighbor mayor could only help, right? Soon the Commonwealth would have its own army ready to take on the Institute… was that enough? Should Nate be doing more? His son could be sick, dying, tortured - and here Nate was running around the Commonwealth like a jackass with a gun taking on every little thing that came in his way. That wasn’t what a parent did when their child’s life was on the line. 

Nate thought about the way MacCready counted his caps at the bar, ordering only for himself and only the cheapest thing on the menu. How MacCready never wasted ammo if he didn’t think he could make the shot, how he told Nate once that he doesn’t fire automatic rifles because they were too expensive to shoot. He thought about the way the merc weighed every injury, determining if it was worth using a stimpack or just letting it heal over on its own. Nate assumed at the time he was broke, then later that he was parsimonious, now he thought back on it and it made him feel dizzy. 

“Damn,” Nick exclaimed, putting the final letter back at the bottom of the stack. “Nothin’ in here about where he used to operate out of. Guess it’s not that surprising he wouldn’t tell his friends back home about paling around the Gunners.”

“So the room’s a dead end then,” Nate said with a sigh. Great. Add 'looking over a man’s private letters without his consent for nothing' to the list of guilts Nate had going on. 

“We might have overlooked something. I’m gonna do one final sweep of the room. You go put these back where you found them.” Nick handed Nate the stack before standing up. The letter Nate had been holding ended up on the bottom of the pile. Without meaning to, he glanced down at the letter on the top of the stack; the letters were written in messy blocks in thick marker. Nate looked away, then looked back. Well, in for a penny.

_ HI DAD. I AM FEELING BETER TODAY. I WENT OUTSID AND HAD LUNCH.  _

It was followed by a squiggly drawing of what was either a sun or a spider with too many legs. Another little part of Nate’s soul ripped open. Did Shaun write like this when he was younger? If the Institute had schools - and if Shaun was allowed to attend - then he probably had better spelling and penmanship than this by now. Just another part of his life he would never,  _ ever _ get back. 

“You probably shouldn’t be reading those,” Nick said. He didn’t even look back from where he stood in the doorway. 

“Right, yeah,” Nate said, replacing the unsent letter back on the top of the pile. He picked up the ammo box where the letters had been kept and sat back down. MacCready had really crammed the letters in there to make them fit; it was just like him not to invest in a second box. 

When he finally got them all to fit, his hand lingered on the unsent letter on top. What would happen to MacCready’s kid if the caps stopped coming in? Even if MacCready was alive after all this, the Gunners weren’t well known for leaving their captives with all their limbs intact. It seemed like the people Duncan was staying with were good friends of MacCready's, so they probably wouldn’t just throw him out, but if the kid was sick and seeing a doctor, and if those friends couldn’t pay for it…

Nate couldn’t help but think of Shaun. It was heart-wrenchingly painful for him to think of his kid being raised by someone else, but if it was between that and seeing his baby boy in a grave he knew what he’d choose. MacCready had been forced to make that choice on his own and leave his son behind, sending money back so that he knew his kid was cared for while he searched for a cure. Nate could only hope his kid was being taken care of like that. 

Nate flipped the letter over, scanning the delivery instructions. There was no way he could memorize that, so he slipped the note into his jacket pocket. If Nick noticed (which Nate had no doubt he had) he didn’t say anything. He just kept on searching and let Nate replace the box in the bottom drawer between the handgun and the wood-carved toy soldier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering MacCready's education probably began and ended with Joseph in Little Lamplight - if even that - I assume he isn't 100% literate. 
> 
> If you're enjoying the fic so far, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment. Thanks for reading!


	3. Lucky Shot

Nate was a really good shot, Nick wanted that to be known first. As to be expected of someone with a pre-war military background, Nate knew how to assemble, disassemble, maintain, and most importantly  _ fire _ a variety of guns. And bonus, he was decently accurate too. He made for a great traveling companion out in the Commonwealth where the environment was just as likely to kill you as the people. He was strong, vigilant, and good with just about any weapon he got his hands on. That being said, if there was one attribute that Nick liked the most about traveling with Nate, it was that fortune tended to swarm him like a bloatfly on brahmen crap. 

They had given up the search in MacCready’s room about half an hour ago. Nate decided to get a cola from Charlie and sit down at the bar for a minute, Nick went outside for some fresh air and a smoke, and to think about where the next place to look would be. He’d gotten halfway through his cigarette when Nate came bounding out from the Third Rail with a look Nick had only ever seen on a dog after hearing the word ‘treat.’

“Come on!” Nate said, grabbing the detective by the arm. “I know where our next clue is!” 

“What’d you find?” Nick asked, skipping a step to catch up with Nate. 

“Some of the ‘Watch were taking a break down there, they said they found some chick dressed like a Gunner playing dead behind a dumpster.”

Nick raised a brow. “And they didn’t try to arrest her?” Or, more accurately for Handcock’s men, shoot her. 

“I asked the same thing; apparently they felt sorry for her so they’ve just been letting her stay where she was,” Nate looked back at the detective with bright eyes. Nick hadn’t seen the man this excited in- well, it _ was _ Nate, he was always excited, but he hadn’t been this peppy for at least a few hours now. “They said she was still alive an hour ago.”

“How could they tell?” Nick said.

“Fresh blood on the ground. Apparently MacCready got her good in the leg.”

Well, how about that? Nick never thought he’d be this relieved that security in Goodneighbor was so terrible. 

Sure enough, when they followed the directions of the Neighborhood watch through a maze of back allies, they came right up on a dead-end with one dumpster and one bloody looking ‘corpse’ of a Gunner. Just in front of her sat a familiar-looking green hat.

Nate scooped up the hat, examining it like it might just speak up and tell him where its owner was. There was a dark stain on the back - dried blood. Nate stuffed the hat into a pocket and turned his attention to the so-assumed ‘late’ Gunner. 

She had propped herself up against the side of the dumpster, which made it hard to make out her figure if someone was just passing by. Nick sensed a slight warm breeze coming from a vent that had to be somewhere behind all the trash. The Gunner had her belt wrapped tightly around her thigh, just above an open gash that was dripping with blood and purulence. Just like the guards said, the wound still looked fresh despite the fact that it most likely occurred 36 hours prior. The color of the flesh around the opening in her leg was all sorts of wrong _.  _ Poor thing. She was probably going to lose the leg, if she didn’t lose her life first. 

Nate motioned for Nick to take the lead. He stepped forward and scanned the ground for weapons. She didn’t have much on under her armor, but she still could be concealing something. Best proceed with caution. 

“Hey there, doll,” Nick said crouching down. He kept his pistol in hand but tried to keep from coming off hostile. That was always the hard part for a guy like Nick who was more metal than man. “No need to hold your breath on our account, we just have a few questions for ya.”

No response.

Several seconds ticked by. Just as Nick was about to reach forward and check for a pulse she gasped, having apparently reached her lung capacity. Her eyes snapped over to Nick, only showing a bit of surprise while taking in his robotic appearance. No screaming or threats yet - this was off to a good start. 

“God… you’re an ugly thing,” She said between pants.

“You’re not much to look at yourself,” Nick returned, wrinkling his nose. “Or to smell, for that matter.”

“The fuck do you want?” She snapped. Her head fell lazily to rest on her shoulder, but other than that she didn’t move.

“We’re looking for MacCready,” Nick said. “Have any idea where your friends might’ve taken him?”

“Mass Pike Interchange, east of the river in Weston. ‘S a bunch of roads on top of one another, can’t miss it.”

Well, that was… surprisingly easy. Too easy. Nick opened his mouth to question it, but Nate beat him to the punch. 

“Why are you telling us?" Nate asked. Nick was a little proud, Nate was finally learning to question the motives of strangers in the Wasteland. Now if only Nick could get him to do that more consistently. 

“Because fuck ‘em,” The Gunner replied. “Assholes ran off and left me for dead. Took my caps, my gun, my watch. Shoulda stayed with the goddamn Raiders.”

Nick wasn’t sure if the Raiders would have done any different, but it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t the worst motive he’d ever heard for selling someone out. There was always the chance she was left here to set them up for a trap, but Nick doubted anyone would sign up to sit behind a dumpster for two days with an infected leg wound on the off chance someone sent a search party. 

“Alright then, thanks doll,” Nick said, stepping back. The woman responded with an ambiguous grunting noise and leaned her head back against the dumpster. 

“Think she’s telling the truth?” Nate whispered when the two were out of earshot. 

“It’s the best lead we have,” Nick said. “And I do know that there is a Gunner’s base over by the old turnpike. If we want to get MacCready back alive, we don’t have time to look around for corroborating evidence.”

Nate nodded in agreement. “Then let’s head out.”

“Everything alright back there?” The rough voice of a ghoul cut in. Nick and Nate turned to see a member of the Neighborhood Watch standing at the entrance to the alleyway, gun in hand. “Wanted to make sure our little lady back here was treatin’ you fellas nice.”

Nate smiled and raised a hand to wave. “It’s all good. Thanks for the tip.”

“Don’t mention it. Anything to help out the Mayor,” The ghoul said.

Nick looked back at the girl. She hadn’t moved an inch, but Nick could tell her eyes were slit just enough to see what was happening. He turned around and walked back over to her. “Here, let me give you a hand,” Nick said, threading his arm under her shoulder to hoist her up. She jerked, eyes flying open.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off of me, Synth. I’ll rip your goddamn wires out through your throat” She snarled. Nick ignored her, instead addressing the watchman.

“If it’s not too much trouble, mind dropping this one off with Hancock?” Nick asked, pulling the girl along despite her continued threats. “Let him know that she was a big help in tracking down MacCready, make sure he treats her like a guest.”

“Can do, Nick,” The guard said, shouldering the ex-Gunner on her lame side. As soon as Nick let her go her verbal abuse was redirected to the guard.

“Piece of shit ghoul, if you try anything I’ll gut you in the fucking streets, you irratedated pissworm.”

The watchman chuckled. “Yer lucky Nick’s such a nice guy, sweetheart. Anyone else’d shut you up with a bullet by now.”

Nick heard the profanity and graphic - yet ultimately empty - threats all the way through the allies as he and Nate made for Goodneighbor’s gates. “You need anything before we head out?” Nick asked. Nate shook his head. 

“I’ve got stimpacks and bullets, I’m set,” He replied. 

“You might want to stock up extra on medical supplies. We don’t know what we’ll find when we get to the Interchange” Nick said grimly. Nate nodded.

“Yeah, I know.” His jaw was set, expression stern. At least he took MacCready’s well being seriously now. Nick had been worried Nate might just put a bullet in the merc’s head as soon as they found him. It was almost a little disturbing how quickly Nate could change his mind about a person. Even if it was convenient for the moment, that could be a problem later down the line. 

For now, Nick checked his pockets to make sure he had enough bullets to provide decent back up for Nate. He was pretty durable, considering his literal titanium skeleton, but Nick was a detective at his core. If the Institute had built him for fighting they’d made sure to delete that part of his code before sending him off. He was mostly coming along to watch Nate's back while he cleared out anything and everything that got in their way. 

Determining themselves ready, and with the clock running against them, the two men headed out into the Commonwealth.

\---

MacCready hadn’t really thought about what would happen when he died. In fact, he had the perfect plan for that - just don’t die. Back when Lucy was around the idea that he or anyone he cared about could drop dead at any time hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d seen some kids die in Little Lamplight back in the day, sure, but no one he was particularly close with. With everyone leaving at 16, MacCready hadn’t even really thought to get close to anyone. People came and people went, that’s how it was - MacCready spent his energy focusing on not being one of the ones who ended up in a shallow grave when they disappeared.

Now there was Lucy, dead by ghouls, his son, soon-to-be-dead by disease, and him, gasping for air, face down on 200-year-old asphalt. 

“Had enough yet?” 

MacCready could hear Winlock’s voice, understood what he was saying, but he couldn’t make sense of anything, much less the mocking of a glorified schoolyard bully. MacCready’s chest burned, his head swam, and he’d lost all feeling in his right hand. It was hard to tell if he’d been drugged again or if his body had simply reached its limit. At some point his loose molar was knocked out after Winlock threw him to the ground. MacCready didn’t see it anywhere; he hoped he didn’t swallow it. 

MacCready couldn’t breathe right anymore. He sucked in but the air just wasn’t getting through. His ribs were shattered and floating in his chest, he could feel them shift every time he moved. Surprisingly, it wasn't even painful anymore. It felt more like an ever-present pressure on his sternum that forced him to gasp for every breath. This was what it felt like to be dying, he was sure of it. 

“Don’t worry, MacCready, it’ll all be over soon,” Winlock teased, nudging MacCready with his boot. “I doubt Handcock will be willing to part with anything worth much for a piece of trash like you. As soon as the team comes back we’ll put a bullet in your skull and make all that pain go away.”

MacCready couldn’t respond if he wanted to - he knew he was going to die before then, and not just because the Gunner's negotiator was almost certainly not coming back from that meeting with Hancock. He’d gone from cold to frozen, numbness seeping into him, rolling through his limbs and slowly creeping towards the core of his body. All he could do was try to breathe. He was terrified; he didn't want to die just yet. 

He had no idea what would happen to Duncan after he died. His friends promised to take care of him no matter what, but that wasn’t enough. Duncan needed a cure, he needed treatments with a competent doctor, he needed his  _ father _ to take care of him.

He didn’t even have the energy to regret anything. He felt exhausted, which itself was terrifying. He knew if he passed out now there would be no coming back, so MacCready put all his remaining strength into survival. He struggled with every breath, coughing into the gag on alternating exhales. He could feel blood coming back up his throat when he breathed, he was choking on it. 

_ Not yet, please, God, not yet. _

It wasn’t enough. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. He could still hear Winlock’s nauseating laughter over him; he wasn’t sure if it was real or just his mind playing tricks on him. 

So this was how he died, huh? Half aware, tied up and face down on broken ribs, choking on his own blood, in the middle of nowhere, Commonwealth, hundreds of miles from home, alone. MacCready hated it. He hated that this was how it was gonna go down. If he had to die why couldn’t it have at least been on his feet, fighting to get a cure back to his kid? He’d found it, he’d been so close, he just needed a little more time. If he could just get Duncan that cure, make sure his kid would live long enough to grow up, that would be all he needs. 

MacCready’s vision faded. He could still hear Winlock, but the man wasn’t laughing anymore. He was yelling something, to someone, about something. There was a crash and the  _ crack _ of rifle fire. MacCready shifted his head, trying to see what was going on, but his eyesight was tunneling fast. 

What on earth…?

\---

_ “Nick get down!” _

Nate threw an arm around his partner and tackled them both to the ground. A rock ten yards ahead of them burst into flaming shards. Nate kept his arm over his eyes, protecting them from the burning debris. By the time he looked back up the Gunner on the freeway was already loading her next rocket into the launcher. 

“Good save,” Nick said, getting back on his feet. He couldn’t help take out the Gunners on the bridge with his handgun, but he could pick off the charging melee combatants as they crawled out from whatever hole they were hiding in. He fired off two more shots while Nate looked down the sights of his sniper rifle.

Nate saw the Gunner with the rocket launcher fumbling to get her shot lined up through his scope. The setting sun glinted off her eyes for just one second too long; Nate put two shots in her in rapid succession. The Gunner crumpled, dropping the missile launcher over the edge of the Interchange.

“Bonus,” Nate said. He shouldered his rifle and pushed forward. Nick kept pace behind him, keeping an eye out for attack dogs and ground troops while Nate went to retrieve the launcher.  “This should take care of that asshole in the power armor,” Nate said as he shouldered his latest pilfered weapon. 

“You ever fire one of those things before?” Nick asked as he ducked behind a pillar to keep from being shot in the back. 

“Never too old to learn,” Nate replied. He approached the scaffolding platform and pressed the big red button to summon the elevator. 

“Not sure if this is the best time to take up lessons,” Nick said, following Nate nonetheless.

“Well, if you have any bright ideas between here and the top on how we can take down a full set of T-60 and an Assaultron using only a shotgun and a pipe pistol, feel free to let me know.”

If it were anyone else, Nick would refuse to step one foot on that elevator until he heard a solid plan. However, this was Nate, Sole Survivor of Vault 111, General of the Minuteman, Honorary Knight of the Brotherhood, possible agent of the Railroad. Nick trusted the man’s ability to do the impossible for lunch then treat them both to dessert. 

The ride up was fast. Nick crouched behind Nate and watched the man fire off his single shot from the rocket launcher directly into the side of a petroleum tanker that had been sitting tight for over two centuries waiting for an excuse to explode. And Nate had just given it a stunning invitation. 

“Jesus, Nate,  _ careful _ !” Nick snapped, ducking to avoid the scorching projectiles raining over the rails of the exchange. “This is a rescue mission, remember?”

“I know I know!” Nate fired back. “I’m trying not to turn  _ us _ into a recovery mission.”

The two could still feel the heat rolling off the carnage by the time the elevator reached its destination. The Gunner in the power armor seemed down for the count, as did the Assaultron, who was left flailing and scrabbling on the ground without its legs. Nick felt a twinge of empathy for the poor thing. He shot it twice in its power core and watched the killing machine power down. 

The remaining Gunners were in retreat, most ducking for cover to reload and regroup, though a handful decided to try their luck taking a dive off the edge of the bridge. With their hardest hitters out of the fight, it was laughably easy for Nate to take them all out. It took less than five minutes before the entire base was cleared and the shooting could stop. It was a messier ordeal than Nick would have liked, but in Nate’s defense, he never shot anyone who surrendered. If his opponent wanted to turn tail mid-fight, Nate would let them leave with their life; the only problem there was most people weren’t smart enough to take that option. 

“Sweep the area,” Nate commanded. “Take out any additional combatants if hostile. If anyone is left alive try to get MacCready’s location before anything else.” He was back in soldier mode - bossy, snappish, high alert. Nick supposed it was better than being completely brainless in the middle of a battlefield. He just hoped Nate wouldn’t take too long to snap out of it this time. 

Nick poked around the medley of corpses while Nate checked cabins. It seemed like the initial explosion had knocked out a series of turrets, which in turn caused them to combust and collapse a wooden rampway on top of the Gunners taking cover there. There had to be at least ten crushed corpses under there, most of which were still burning. Nick grimaced at the sight; he just hoped MacCready hadn’t been there at the time.

“Nick, I found something.”

“What is it?” Nick came rushing across the highway. Nate was kneeling by a corpse in a very familiar beige duster. If Nick had a heart it would have stopped beating for a moment - they were too late.

Except they weren’t, because on further inspection the corpse in question had long black hair and a set of breasts tucked away in the folds of the fabric.

“It’s MacCready’s duster,” Nate said, peeling the scorched article off the fallen Gunner. The old thing looked worse for wear, even more so than usual. It seemed someone had ripped off the remaining sleeve and there were now enough bullet holes in the back to give Nick’s coat a run for its money. Thankfully, it seemed those new tears came from the new owner and not the old. 

“If that’s still here then so is he,” Nick said. “And I’ll bet he’s close by.”

Their search took on a new frenzy. With confirmation that their informant had been telling the truth, there was renewed hope for bringing MacCready back to Hancock. Whether alive or not was yet to be seen. Nate pushed through the remaining shacks at breakneck speeds while Nick turned over corpses and looked under cars. 

In the end, it was Nick who found MacCready.

He had nearly mistaken the merc as another gunner corpse, that was until his sensors picked up on the faintest sign of movement from the body. A second glance revealed that said man had both wrists tied behind his back and a gag between his teeth, curled on his side with his face pressed into the pavement. 

“MacCready,” Nick breathed. He rushed to his side, quickly checking for a pulse. Thankfully, his sensors were spot on; MacCready was still alive, for the moment. 

“You find him?” Nate called excitedly. 

“Yeah, over here,” Nick said. “He’s alive, but it doesn’t look good.”

That might have been an understatement. MacCready’s face was a mess - half of it was swollen up like a purple and blue water balloon. His jaw was slightly misaligned, something was probably busted there. Blood ran from his nose down, pooling at the cloth gag and clashing against the bluish hue of his lips. MacCready didn’t respond to Nick’s prodding - the only outward sign he was even still alive were the short, wet exhales he choked out and the trickle of fresh red blood trailing from his nose. 

“Shit,” Nick muttered as he untied the gag. He heard Nate take a sharp breath behind him. “Nate, get his hands untied.” 

“Roger that,” Nate said. He and Nick worked quickly to get MacCready on his back. MacCready’s one good eye cracked open - pupil blown wide - but he didn’t show any expression or recognition. His chest spasmed lightly in short breaths that seemed to let out more air than they were taking in. Nick put a hand on MacCready’s chest, feeling for damage. Three broken ribs for sure on his left side, five more probably busted too. Nick noticed what Nate was doing and snatched his wrist before his well-meaning partner stuck their patient with a stimpack. 

“Nick, he’s dying,” Nate complained.

“Somethin’ wrong with his lungs. If you give that to him wrong it’ll kill him faster than it’ll save him, I know from experience,” Nick grimaced. “We need to get him to a medic.”

Nate put a hand to his jaw, thumb scratching the stubble on his cheek. “Okay… okay, okay.” He said. Nate stepped back and began to pace while MacCready coughed. The merc’s mouth moved like he was trying to speak. Nick put a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. 

The next thing Nick heard was a sharp hissing sound and the clatter of tin on asphalt. Nick turned his head to see a trail of red smoke spitting up from a canister ten yards away on one of the uncovered sections of the interchange. He locked eyes with Nate. 

“Callin’ in the Brotherhood?” He asked. 

“Fastest way to make it to Sanctuary,” Nate shrugged, frowning. 

“I’m surprised you had a vertibird signal grenade on you,” Nick said. 

“Being an honorary Knight has its perks.”

Nick couldn’t deny that fact. Having one of the largest military organizations on the east coast on your side was a good way to get what you want. “You think whoever's coming will be willing to help a civilian?” Nick asked. 

“The Brotherhood isn’t all full of technology hungry supremacists,” Nate said. “A lot of them are decent enough to lend a hand when needed.”

“Even still, better make myself scarce,” Nick said, taking to his feet. 

“Help me get MacCready onto one of these plywood boards first. I'm gonna use it to lift him onto the 'bird when it gets here," Nate said as he motioned to the crudely constructed bridges connecting the collapsed portions of the highway. The planks weren’t nailed down, making it easy for Nick and Nate to maneuver one of them next to MacCready. The hard part was moving the merc gently on top of it without hurting him more than necessary. 

Regardless of their efforts to do this painlessly, MacCready’s mouth opened in a silent cry. Nate apologized under his breath from his position holding up the merc legs. Nick carried MacCready’s shoulders, careful of the merc’s right hand, which looked like it had been backed over a couple of times by a brahmin. When MacCready was finally relocated Nick stood up to make his departure before the Brotherhood could put more holes in him than swiss cheese. 

“You hang in there, MacCready, you hear me?" Nick said before he left. “Hancock would hate to hear you made it this far just to die on us.” 

MacCready didn’t even look at Nick, his good eye was focused on the clouds overhead like they were the only thing keeping him tied to this world. They very well might be. Nick gave Nate one last nod before disappearing into the tunnel of old roads. 

Nate was left alone with the quietly gasping MacCready while the sun dipped lower towards the horizon. Nate wasn’t a patient man on the best of days, and sitting next to someone who looked like they were going to drop dead in a matter of seconds made him antsy. 

“Come on, come on,” Nate muttered, watching the sky for any sign of an incoming vertibird. MacCready shivered and coughed, blood splattering his teeth and chest, then gave a full-body shudder. Nate cringed, reaching for the old duster he’d cast aside when he saw the man for the first time. He draped it over MacCready’s bare arms and chest. “Hang in there. Just a little longer - we’re gonna get you help.”

For the first time, MacCready looked at Nate. He swallowed with extreme effort and nodded. It was the first time he’d acknowledged anything that was happening around him. Probably a good sign. Maybe. 

Holding his gaze was painful for Nate, but he refused to look away, as if doing so would communicate lost hope. “Just try to breathe,” Nate coached. MacCready took a shuddering breath, held it, then coughed until he was gasping again. Nate grabbed the man’s arm, years worth of instinct honed in the military quick to make themselves known. 

“W-where-” MacCready started trying to get the words. Nate shook his head. 

“No talking, just breathe,” He commanded. “You’re at the Mass Pike Interchange. I’m taking you to Sanctuary Clinic. A vertibird will be here any minute now.” 

“Don’t- flying-” MacCready tried and failed to get the words out, but Nate already knew what he was going to say. Despite everything, Nate laughed.

“Sorry, you’re gonna have to deal with a little vertibird trip,” Nate said, giving the man’s arm a squeeze. He remembered when he had gone to meet the Brotherhood for the first time, back when he and MacCready were still traveling together. MacCready had stayed stubbornly at the airport, refusing to board the vertibird to reach the Prydwen.  _ “I ain’t getting in that ancient tin can and trustin’ it not to drop me.”  _ He had said, arms crossed.  _ “I don’t care how safe they say it is _ .”

MacCready made a face that was somewhere between pained and upset. His eye closed and he kept up his short gasp for air. Nate knew MacCready wasn’t supposed to be this pale; behind the spattering of blood MacCready's lips were an unnatural teal. He'd seen men die in the war. Chinese, American, Canadian - there was a look about a person when they weren’t going to make it, and MacCready reminded Nate too much of that. 

MacCready opened his eye back up, straining to get both eyes open despite the swelling on his left. He looked at Nate, opening and closing his mouth. His eyes were glistening with moisture and Nate was surprised to see the usually sarcastic, lively merc with tears in his eyes. MacCready was repeating a single syllable (“duh”, “duh”, “duh”) over and over. MacCready shifted in an attempt to sit up, only ever managing to crane his neck and shift his shoulders. Nate urged him to be still until he realized what MacCready was trying to say. 

_ Duncan.  _

“Duncan’s going to be fine,” Nate said immediately. MacCready looked at Nate, uncomprehending. Nate took his old friend’s hand (the one that remained unmangled) into his and held tight. “Your son is fine. He’s going to be okay. I promise.” 

MacCready locked eyes with Nate, watching him without being entirely present. Then, he gave a short nod and let his head fall back down against the plank. Nate watched as the man settled. MacCready’s gasps grew weaker and farther between. Nate saw the rise and fall of the young man’s chest as it slowed down to a crawl. Nate realized quickly what was happening.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a stimpack. Even if this didn’t help, there was no way it could make things worse. If Nate did nothing, MacCready would die in a matter of minutes, maybe even less.

Nick said it had to be done right. There was a method to this that only a doctor would know. Nate was about as far from a doctor as they got; he had been on the verge of failing out of community college before going off to war. He didn’t always remember things that people told him, got lost on simple instructions, and back before the bombs he had let his wife handle the taxes. Nate would like to say in place of his intelligence that he was gifted athletically, but that would be a lie. He was cut from just about every team in high school, and he was consistently the weakest member of his team in the army. He was decent with guns, a good shot when it came down to it, but nothing extraordinary. He was well aware of that, just as he was aware of what is one true talent really was:

Nate was Lucky. 

So - putting all of his faith into the luck that spared him from dying in the war, a nuclear holocaust, an assassination attempt, and countless other life-ending scenarios that would have sent the average man to their grave ten times over - Nate lined up the stimpack with MacCready’s broken ribs, and stabbed. 

The result was instantaneous. Before Nate had even pushed down the plunger MacCready jerked with a long, deep gasp. Terrified he had accidentally injured MacCready further, Nate withdrew the needle after only a stunned five seconds of inaction and watched as the man sucked in air and splattered them both with blood with each subsequent cough. When he began to choke, Nate moved behind MacCready and lifted his to the side so he could spit out fluids that were coming up now that he had access to both his lungs. Nate laughed with relief when he saw MacCready’s cheeks go from blue-tinted to full-on rosy. 

“That’s it,” He said, relief flooding every syllable. “You’re not dying today, MacCready. You still got shit to do, remember?”

MacCready continued to cough and suck in air, paying absolutely no attention to Nate; he may as well have been a headrest, and Nate was just fine with that. Seeing the young merc breathing again was good enough for him at the moment. 

It was around the time that Nate finally injected the stimpack for real that the vertibird came into view. MacCready’s rapid breathing had calmed and his expression turned to one of raw agony. Nate looked over the injuries with a sympathetic wince. He was going to need a lot more than just a stimpack to heal from all that… thankfully the clinic that opened up in Sanctuary was well stocked and treated emergency cases for free. Nate would have footed the bill for MacCready if it weren’t. Somehow, Nate felt this whole thing was his fault. 

The Lancer who hopped out from the vertibird when it landed took one look at the situation and went to work. He helped Nate lift MacCready up by the make-shift ply-wood gurney and offered Nate the emergency health kit in back. 

“Just don’t tell anyone I let you use that,” The young pilot said sheepishly. “It’s supposed to be for members of the Brotherhood only.”

Nate thanked him and fastened the passenger straps around MacCready as best he could without moving him off the floor. The merc was still out of it; he didn’t even react as the ‘bird started its ascent. His face was still screwed up and his breath left in pained sighs. Thankfully there was a full vile of Med-X in the med kid the Lancer offered them. Nate injected MacCready and watched as the merc’s features smoothed out and the tension left him like power cut from a Mr. Handy. 

“You’re alright, buddy,” Nate said, keeping an arm on MacCready’s. “We’ll get you taken care of. Your kid isn’t becoming an orphan on my watch.”

Over the chopping of the veritbird’s blades, no one but Nate heard the sentiment - but it didn’t really matter. He was the one who needed to hear it right now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 100% blame my friend who got me into Danganronpa for my portrayal of IdiotSavant!Nate. There's just something so fun about a character who's skill is literally just getting lucky.


	4. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready wakes up

MacCready was staring at a white ceiling in a dark room. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been doing that, nor could he remember where he was. The last thing he remembered was speaking to his son about something while walking along the Potomac River, but with a little effort, MacCready determined that was probably a dream. His son was back in the Capitol, and he likely wasn’t walking on his own anymore. MacCready blinked. Was he awake now?

MacCready pushed himself up off the mattress he was laying on. Vertigo slammed him back down and tried to press the heel of his hands into his eyes, but his right arm was entirely sealed in a cast. MacCready felt his face with his good hand and found a thick square of gauze covering his left eye, wrapped tightly in place by bandages that wrapped all the way around his forehead. MacCready coughed and curled onto his side, cursing under his breath before remembering his promise. 

MacCready’s tongue felt like a dry sponge, and his throat was on fire. He needed to get water. He pulled himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was a wobbly start for him, MacCready swayed on his feet for over a minute. As soon as he tried to move forward he noticed a painful tug on his right arm. A needle was dug into the vein there, a tube trailing behind to a bag held up over the bed. MacCready tensed, staring at it for a moment before carefully picking the needle out of his skin with his good hand. The feeling made MacCready sick, and for a moment he thought he might dry heave. 

He remembered his injuries, remembered getting his head busted open in an alleyway, and drug to the Interchange where Winlock and Barnes took turns breaking his ribs. They'd been close to executing MacCready when someone had shown up and decimated the Gunner’s base, but his memory was too fuzzy to sort through details. He thought he saw Nate and the robot detective there. He hoped that wasn’t who rescued him; the last person MacCready wanted to owe his life to was Nate. 

MacCready didn’t realize he was high until he took his first successful step forward. His head swam and the room suddenly looked much larger than it was. Med-X. He’d had it before, both to treat injuries and for fun once or twice. That was probably why he was on his feet and not completely laid out in agony. MacCready stumbled and grabbed the wall. He would sit down if he wasn’t so thirsty. He would  _ kill _ for a drink of water, so he could make it a few more steps. 

MacCready found his way in the low light to a door and cracked it open. Light hit his good eye with an intensity that almost knocked him flat on his back. He closed his eye, daring to squint it open twice as he adjusted. 

He was in an old-world house; one that had been restored with a fresh coat of paint and repairs to the walls and ceiling. Electric lights hung over the long hallway and despite it being mid-December the air inside felt pleasantly warm. Sanctuary then, MacCready heard that they had come a long way since he’d last been here. Damn. That meant it probably  _ was  _ Nate who saved him. MacCready had to get out of town before Nate decided to pay him a visit and lord his rescue over him like a white knight. 

But first, water. 

MacCready crept down the hall, glancing around as he went. The house didn’t look like any home he’d ever seen. There was a lack of furniture in the hallway and the sharp smell of antiseptic that lingered. It was also around that time he realized he wasn’t wearing his own clothes. He was in a clean, loose-fitting t-shirt and sweatpants. The idea that someone had dressed and undressed him while he was out made MacCready uncomfortable for several reasons he couldn’t entirely explain. 

When he reached what seemed to be the living room he saw a desk with a powered-down terminal and several chairs surrounding it. There was an examination table behind the desk with several tools he’d seen in doctor's offices hung above. Stimpacks, medicine, and painkillers were stored in boxes all along the shelves along with crutches, restored wheelchairs, and bandages scattered about. He’s at a clinic, then.

MacCready made his way over to the desk and dug through the box under there. Buffout, Psycho, Addictol… if he weren’t so out of it this would be one hell of a score. As it were, he pushed them aside in his frantic search for water. 

He heard someone scream. He hardly noticed or cared until he figured that he was probably the cause of it. He looked up and saw a young woman in a white coat looking at him from a doorway into a place that might have once been a kitchen. He blinked at her.

“Oh! Oh, you’re awake,” She said, hand on her chest. “Sorry, you just startled me is all. We didn’t expect you to be up so soon.”

“Water,” MacCready said lamely, closing his good eye and rubbing his head. Christ, he sounded pathetic. He needed to get it together. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is there any water in here?” 

The girl nodded and disappeared into the doorway. MacCready slid into the chair behind the desk and waited. She came back with an ice-cold can of water that she’d had the courtesy of cracking open for him. He nodded and muttered thanks before drinking the best mouthful of any liquid he had ever had. The water hit the hole where his tooth had been like a clap of lighting, but it hardly registered over the ecstasy of finally getting a drink. MacCready’s tongue fidgeted with the new absence in his mouth between sips.

“Go slow,” She warned him, standing by awkwardly. MacCready took two more big sips before he stopped. It was like electricity going through him, powering his drained body. He coughed, clearing his throat. 

“Where am I?” MacCready asked. His voice sounded less scratchy, but only marginally. 

“Sanctuary Medical Clinic,” The woman, who MacCready assumed was either a doctor or a nurse, said. “Your friend brought you in a few days ago.”

MacCready shook his head. “Not my friend,” He muttered. The doctor/nurse frowned but didn’t say anything. He took another sip from the can and thought he might cry. Water had never tasted so good. “Where are my clothes?”

“Your- the man who brought you in has them,” The woman said. 

“Nate?” MacCready cringed when she nodded. Great. So he would have to see Nate again if he wanted to get his clothes back, or at least go inside the man’s house. 

She let him finish off the can before politely offering to help him get back on his feet. “Let’s get you back to bed. If you need anything else I can get it for you.” 

MacCready brushed her off, pulling himself to his feet on his own. “I’m fine, thanks.” He said. After only a single can of water, his world was much clearer. The fog lingering in his head was giving way to reality and he no longer swayed while standing still. 

“Sir, I really don’t think you should be walking around right now,” The woman said softly. “Let me just take you back to your bed and-”

“Look lady, I’m fine,” MacCready said, annoyed partly by her and more so by his own struggle to put one foot in front of the other. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but it’s not like I can pay for all this.” He managed to start walking despite his struggle and headed straight for the door. He was stopped by the woman gently grasping his arm and stepping between him and the exit. 

“You don’t owe us any caps,” she said. “I’m not supposed to let you leave until the doctor clears you. You were injured pretty badly and we just want to make sure you heal properly.”

“Well, I’m healed, thanks” MacCready pushed past her. When she tried to get in his way again, he frowned and shoved her to the side with just enough force to make her move. She yelped and stumbled before hitting the wall. MacCready put all his effort into holding himself up straight and appearing too dangerous to confront. He just needed her to let him go so he could find his clothes and get the hell out of Sanctuary before Nate found out. 

The woman objected again as he opened the door and walked out as confidently as he could fake. He must have succeeded because she didn’t follow him. MacCready was free to wander the streets of Sanctuary on his own. 

The first thing MacCready felt was a chilled midnight breeze hit his face. His body, acclimated to the temperate air in the clinic, shivered immediately and he wrapped his arms around themselves. He hoped his green long sleeve shirt made it through the ordeal - he was going to need it to travel. Bare-feet on concrete, MacCready started to move, still tonguing the pit in his gums as he went. He was grateful he didn't lose any visible teeth, but the absence still felt strange. 

He had only been to Sanctuary once, but he remembered the layout pretty well. It was one of those old-world communities that managed to keep most of its infrastructure intact when the bombs fell. He hardly believed the community was only a few months old when he arrived back then, and it had only grown since. The streetlamps were buzzing with electricity, lighting up the roads between houses despite the moonless sky. There were Minutemen patrolling the streets holding well-constructed laser rifles and clean pistols. There were even a few buildings MacCready swore must be new. 

The whole experience left MacCready’s head swimming. It felt surreal, like a waking dream. Part of it was because he was coming down off of whatever painkillers the doctors put him on, he was sure, but there was something buried deep in his stomach that was clawing through him. MacCready found himself making eye contact with the Minutemen walking by just to make sure he wasn’t a ghost. 

MacCready could have sworn he died. He remembered feeling his lungs give out and the darkness pulling him down. He remembered talking to someone and being moved. How had they gotten him to Sanctuary in that condition? They couldn’t have possibly carried him the whole way. Vertibird, his memory supplied. He’d been moved onto one of those Brotherhood mini-ships and flown off. But before that he had been talking to someone. Nate?

What did he say to Nate, again? And for that matter what did Nate say back? MacCready remembered a lot of things, but it was hard to tell which were dreams and which actually happened. 

It was a stupid thing to be thinking about either way. He didn’t die, and it didn’t matter what he and Nate chatted about while he clung by a thread to the mortal coil. What mattered now was that Winlock and his merry band of jerkwads are dead and the Gunners probably won’t be coming after MacCready anymore. Now all he had to do was get his stuff and go back to Goodneighbor and send the caps from his last job back to Duncan.

Except the Gunners took those caps when they kidnapped him and spent them on beer and ammo. Crap. MacCready would have to figure something else out. He looked down at his arm encased in plaster and bandages. How bad was the hand? The cast made it look like he was wearing a giant mitten over his arm. He couldn’t feel a thing under it, but that might just be the remnants of Med-X. What was he going to do if he couldn’t shoot his gun after it healed?

_ Well, you could always try out Winlock’s suggestion, pretty boy. _

The thought hit MacCready like a pre-war semi and took his feet out from under him. He stumbled, catching himself before he hit the ground, and dry heaved. The world spun as he shook on his feet. His heart hammered in his throat and for a moment he was afraid his lungs had collapsed again. MacCready sucked in a sharp breath, then another.

No. Never think that again. He told himself that over and over until his heart settled down to its normal stuttering beat and he felt confident that he could breathe. 

MacCready looked up. He recognized the road - Nate’s house should be just up ahead. A young Minuteman stood awkwardly nearby; it seemed as if he had rushed over to help but didn’t know what to do now that MacCready was moving again. MacCready probably looked insane with his eyepatch and cast, stumbling around like a chem addict. MacCready couldn’t look the kid in the eye; he just waved at the guard politely as if he were a regular resident Sanctuary man. Thankfully, the guard decided not to follow him. 

Shirt, shoes, duster, leave. Hopefully, Nate had a gun MacCready could borrow, or better yet maybe Nate had snagged MacCready's rifle back from the Gunners when he stormed the place. He had a tendency to pick up a lot of worthless crap while running around the Commonwealth, after all. 

MacCready saw Nate's house coming up over the hill. He actually hadn't been inside when Nate brought him there a year ago. MacCready had sat at the bar across the street while Nate changed clothes and restocked on bullets. The man was pretty open for someone living in the Wasteland, but he was strangely closed off when it came to his personal life and past. MacCready could get that, respected it even, but all the respect he once had for the man had been drained like a sandbag with a hole at the bottom. MacCready didn't feel the slightest stab of guilt when he reached for the oil lamp sitting on the front step and pushed through the front door of Nate's house. Why didn't it shock him that Nate didn't lock his door? 

MacCready crept through the home guided by lamplight. He had experience with breaking and entering from back during his first few years outside of Little Lamplight. Killing made good money but it was much easier (and immensely safer) to snag a few packages of Instant Mash from a sleeping family when all you needed was a bite to eat. 

MacCready began his search. He used his bandaged hand to block the excess light coming from the lamp to keep it from giving him away in the darkroom. 

Nate lived pretty well for someone who almost never visited home. He'd mentioned that the Minutemen used his living room as a base of operations while he was gone, but aside from a few scattered notes on building developments and settlement maps, there was hardly any sign this place was anything other than the home of an average pre-war family. It made MacCready feel something he couldn't identify. If it was jealousy he didn't understand where it came from; MacCready didn't particularly care to live in a place like this. It may have just been the domestic feel of the room that made MacCready long for a life he couldn't have anymore - one where Lucy would be sitting on the restored couch with Duncan playing with his toys on her lap. Or maybe it just pissed MacCready off to know Nate had nice things. 

After wandering around the living room for a minute, MacCready remembered what he was there to do. He had no idea where Nate might be keeping MacCready's clothes. It occurred to MacCready that Nate might not even have them at all, he was only going off the word of the lady at the clinic and she had sounded like she hadn't seen Nate since he dropped MacCready off. Crap. MacCready glanced around the dinner table and perused the kitchen. Determining his things not to be there, he made his way down the short hall at the back of the room.

There was a bathroom to the left and a storage closet to the right, neither of which contained anything of interest to MacCready. There wasn’t even a handgun he could sneak off with for the time being, not that it would do much good when MacCready only had use of his left hand - it felt weird enough holding the lamp with his non-dominant hand. 

There were two more rooms left. MacCready decided to try the one on the right first. He struggled to open the door and hold the lamp at the same time, but he managed to pry it open and creep inside. 

To say MacCready was creeped out would be an understatement. 

If Nate had a kid, he would have had to have kept it a secret from just about everyone who knew him. Despite that, the room MacCready entered was a dead ringer for a pre-war nursery. Baby blue painted walls with drawn on clouds, children's toys lining the shelves too neatly to have been ever touched by an actual toddler (MacCready stepped on many a toy car and building block back at the farm house), and a recently-repaired crib in the center of the room. Unable to stop himself, MacCready peered into the crib. A two-hundred-year-old teddy bear was tucked into the sheets, its plush, weathered head resting on a freshly laundered pillow.

Okay. Yeah, that’s friggin’ creepy. 

MacCready stepped back, head swimming. What the hell was Nate doing with all this crap? Why was he actin’ like he had a kid? The only people who do stuff like this were psycho killers and crazy people, or sometimes ghouls from before the war who lost touch with reality after 200 years of living in this irradiated hell. 

MacCready bumped a table and heard a small crash behind him. His heart stuttered and he stood perfectly still, listening for tell-tale sounds of an angry homeowner waking up during an invasion. When he heard nothing he turned around, looking for what he broke. It seemed he knocked off a picture from the nightstand behind him. He put the lamp down and bent over to pick up the busted frame.

MacCready’s heart had already been thudding in his ears, but it about stopped dead when he saw the picture. 

It was Nate. Nate, dressed in one of those pre-war military uniforms, standing next to some lady with dark hair and tan skin, her belly stuck out exactly like Lucy’s had been just weeks before Duncan was born. Nate had one arm around her, another over his chest, clutching an American flag in a triangle frame - the ones they used to give soldiers who came back from the war. The bronze tag naming the soldier it was issued to glinted in the sunlight and made the name illegible. The house behind the happy couple was the same one MacCready was in now, except the paint was new and the trees in the backyard showed no sign of radiation damage. This photo was taken before the bombs dropped. 

What the hell was Nate doing in a photograph from before the war?? It wasn’t like he was a ghoul; how could he have been alive back then? Was he a time traveler or some kinda immortal?

MacCready shook his head. Stupid; those were the kinds of things a kid would think. The photo couldn’t be Nate - it was clearly taken over 200 years ago. It was probably one of his ancestors; Nate said he’d come from the vault located at the top of the hill behind the town. This guy in the photo probably bought one of those expensive tickets to get into the program with his wife and kid. Normally thinking about those a-holes who hid in some expensive bunker while the rest of their neighbors got nuked made him sick, but he couldn’t really fault the guy. If MacCready had found a way to keep Lucy and Ducan safe he would have spent every cap he ever made to make sure it happened. 

Still, MacCready couldn’t shake the eerie feeling the photo gave him. The man standing there 200 years ago looked  _ exactly _ like Nate had when they first met, right down to the haircut and light crinkles around his eyes. Something about the man made MacCready certain it was Nate. 

He looked back at the table where the picture had fallen from and noticed a triangle frame sitting on the stand there. MacCready knew it was wrong - he was just here to get his clothes back, he shouldn’t be snooping around - but before he could stop himself he bent in closer to read the name on the bronze plaque screwed to the wooden frame. 

_ Nathaniel Hunt, 108th Infantry Division. _

_ "Name's MacCready, good to meet ya, boss" He shook his new client's hand. MacCready had a good feeling about this one; the guy had a good face, the kind you could trust - and more importantly a lot of caps to spend.  _

_ "Nathaniel Hunt, but you can call me Nate"  _

_ "Whatever you say, boss."  _

MacCready’s head swam and he steadied himself on the table. His hand came down on something circular and metallic. It was a ring, the type that married people wore back in the day, almost identical to the one that Nate still had on his left finger, save for a small sapphire stone embedded in the center. MacCready glanced back at the photo he had put down during his dizzy spell. The girl in the picture had her left hand resting on her swollen stomach. A gold-and-blue circle was etched around her ring finger. 

MacCready thought he was going to throw up. His entire body was shaking now, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He needed to get the hell out of here - Nate could never know he saw this. He had no idea why Nate was pretending to be that guy in the photo, there was just no good explanation for why or how anyone would do that. Maybe Nate had facial reconstruction surgery to match the photo? Maybe he just looked like the guy and wanted to play dress-up - live in this guy's house and wear his clothes and shit? Maybe he was a synth replica of him. Whatever the reason was, MacCready was sure Nate didn’t want people to know, and he had no idea what the man would do to keep that secret.

MacCready tried to shake the creepy feeling from his head. He was overreacting. This was probably nothing. If Nate wanted to dress up like 200-year-old dead guys and play a game of pre-war house, that was his deal. MacCready just needed to leave, preferably with his clothes and a gun. He was about to move on with his search and get the hell out of this nightmare room when he saw a familiar piece of paper under his lamp. 

_ SEND TO DUNCAN MACCREADY _

MacCready stared at his own handwriting on his unsent letter. Blocky letters spelled out his son's name followed by directions to find where he was. He couldn’t get his head to process what he was seeing - he felt like he was high again. Why was this here? How did Nate get a hold of his letter?

MacCready picked the letter up. It was the first time he realized his hands were shaking and that he was breathing through his mouth in unsteady gasps. He held the letter up to the lamp and read it just to make sure. It was exactly how he remembered it.

MacCready went from creeped out to furious, and then from furious to terrified. Nate had been in his room, Nate had gone through his things, Nate had read his private letters, and  _ Nate knew where his son lived. _

Information was often overvalued by people in his mind, but MacCready knew that having a delusional psychopath knowing the location of his sick son was  _ bad _ , even if that crazy man was as dumb and altruistic as Nate. And now, Nate had one more reason to hate MacCready, who had just broken into his house in the middle of the night and stumbled in on some big dark secret. MacCready had to leave, right now, clothes or no. Nate could never know he was here.

MacCready heard the click of a 10mm safety switch. 

“Don’t move.”

The next thing MacCready knew he was on the ground, flat on his back with his spine pressed against the dresser. He hadn’t even noticed he fell, nor that he screamed, he was breathing fast and his heart hammered so painfully in his chest he was certain something was wrong with it. Thankfully, despite all the movement, Nate didn’t shoot MacCready while he cowered on the floor, repeating in a shrill voice over and over “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

The lights came on and hit MacCready like a sucker punch. His head ached in familiar places and he flinched, squeezing his eye shut. He whined involuntarily, long and piercing. When he could finally pry his eye back open he saw a bleary-eyed Nate staring back at him, gun pointed at the spot where MacCready had been standing just a second earlier. Nate lowered the gun and MacCready flinched before realizing he wasn’t trying to aim it. 

For a minute the two looked at each other as if waiting for an explanation. MacCready’s arm pulsed painfully under his cast and the place in his jaw where it had been busted ached. It was as if the shock drained the last of the Med-X from his system. He struggled to breathe, reminding himself with every breath that his lungs were fixed so there wasn’t any reason he should take deep breaths, despite the pain welling up in his chest. 

“MacCready?” Nate finally said, sounding just as dumb as ever. MacCready was still too shaken to mock him for it. “What… what are you doing?” 

“I was just looking for my clothes,” He replied hastily. “I didn’t see anything.”

Nate looked confused as ever when he said that. He looked behind MacCready at the mess he’d made of the nightstand behind him, then down at the letter still tightly clutched in MacCready’s hand. Crap.

“Look,” MacCready said defensively. “I don’t care what you do in your own home. I’m not gonna tell anyone about the picture, I promise, I’ll forget everything as soon as I’m out of here. Just let me go back to Goodneighbor and I’ll never bother you again.” MacCready’s heart pounded in his throat while he waited for Nate to answer. 

As soon as he processed what MacCready had said, Nate raised a hand to his eyes and rubbed his face.

“Christ, MacCready, I’m not mad at you,” He said, exasperated. “I thought you were stealing shit.”

Offended didn’t even  _ begin _ to describe what MacCready felt. Fairly certain Nate wasn’t planning to shoot him anymore, MacCready rolled onto his feet and let his self-righteous anger take over. “You thought  _ I _ was stealing from  _ you _ ?!” He snapped, staggering to stand up. He thrust the unsent letter into Nate's face. “Where the hell did you get his from? Why were you in my room?”

“Because you were missing!” Nate defended. Despite his tone, he was unable to keep the guilt from his face. At least he had the decency to feel bad about violating MacCready’s privacy. “We needed some clues on where your old friends had taken you.”

MacCready’s eye twitched when Nate referred to those dead bastards as his friend. Not the fight to pick right now. “Why did you keep this?” He spit back at Nate. When Nate didn’t answer right away, MacCready kept going. “You know what? Don't answer that. You stay the fuck away from my son, you understand me?” He didn’t bother correcting the swear - there were times when swearing was acceptable. Threatening a crazy person to keep away from his only living relative was one of them. 

“I didn’t have any plans like that,” Nate said quickly. “It’s just-” He sighed. “Look. We didn’t know if we were going to recover you alive - shit, man, we almost didn’t. I just wanted to make sure I knew who to inform if things went bad.”

That was a very ‘Nate’ reason to steal things. MacCready hated that it made sense. MacCready lowered his arm clutching the note, mostly because he was getting tired of holding it up. “Did you read anything?” He asked cautiously. 

“No,” Nate lied, terribly. He was probably trying to protect MacCready’s feelings, which was stupid, but MacCready wasn’t going to push the issue. It left the two men in the awkward position of standing face-to-face in the room with nothing to say. MacCready finally spoke up. 

“I wasn’t stealing from you. I just want my clothes back,” he repeated.

“Goddammit, I wasn’t accusing you of stealing, MacCready, Jesus!” Nate snapped. “I didn’t even know it was  _ you _ in here - you’ve been in a fucking coma for three days.”

MacCready knew that, but for some reason he hadn’t really hit him as what had happened. He’d been out for three days. He knew his injuries had been bad, but he’d never spent more than 24 hours and a couple of stimpacks recovering. He glanced down at his right hand still splinted in a cast. Really had been close to biting it this time, huh? The thought made him sway on his feet. 

Before either of them could say anything else stupid to each other there was a noise in the kitchen and a set of heavy, mechanical footsteps down the hall.

“There you are,” Nick said, coming up behind Nate. He took one look at the scene and sighed. “Of course - how did I know this was what I was gonna find when Lee told me her patient went missing? Oh for god’s sake Nate, put the damn gun down! I doubt MacCready is in any shape for one of your spats right now.” 

Nate looked down at the gun in his hand as if he had entirely forgotten it was there. To be fair, both men had ignored the weapon still loaded and held between them for the past few minutes. Nate put the safety back on and shoved it in the pocket of his pajama pants. He stepped aside and let Nick through.

“MacCready, good to see you back on your feet,” The detective said. MacCready nodded awkwardly in return, unsure of quite what to say. “Sorry to interrupt your little personal visit, but the doctor wants you back in bed - your due for another stimpack and a dose of Med-X. I’m bettin’ that arm is starting to give you trouble by now.”

It had. The ache in his fingers had morphed into a burning that became harder and harder to ignore as time went on. As soon as Nick mentioned it the appendage began to sting. Regardless, MacCready shook his head.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m headed to Goodneighbor as soon as I get my clothes back,” he said. Nick raised an eyebrow. 

“And what’s your plan if you get jumped by Raiders on the way back? Gonna club ‘em to death with your cast?” Nick’s sarcasm was easily his most endearing and annoying attribute. “You’re in no shape to travel, and if you think you’re aching now just wait until the painkillers really wear off.”

“I don’t got the caps to spare on chems at the moment,” MacCready said. 

“The clinic’s free,” Nick said as though he knew MacCready already knew that.

“I’d rather just head back to the Third Rail and heal up on my own,” MacCready was starting to struggle to keep the hurt out of his voice. The pain in his arm had traveled to his right shoulder and began pooling there with a brand new uncomfortable sensation. “I’ve had worse than this before, trust me.”

“Doubtful,” Nick said. “Come on, there’s no arguing this with me. If you’re that set on heading back to Goodneighbor as soon as possible there’s a caravan traveling there in a couple of days. Just stick it out at the clinic ‘til then to give me and the doc some peace of mind. It’s safer to travel in a group anyways.”

MacCready sucked on his lips. The temptation of chems to soothe his strained body was going to win out in the end, he could already tell. Not to mention the rolling feeling in his stomach that left him increasingly lightheaded. Surely if they were going to keep him at that stupid clinic they would have some food there for him. 

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Fine, fine,” He said. “But I want my clothes back first.”

“Sure. Nate?” Nick turned to his friend. Nate jumped, seeming as though he had spaced out while the two of them talked. 

“Hm? What? Yeah, sure,” He nodded after catching himself up on the conversation. He darted out of the room and was back in less than a minute with MacCready’s shirt, jacket, pants, and shoes. They were cleaner than they had been in months, despite the presence of a few new bloodstains on the hat. Nate handed them off awkwardly to MacCready, who struggled to take them one-handedly before Nick stepped in and carried them for him.

“Let’s head out,” Nick said. “I’ll make sure you make it back to the clinic without passing out on the way there.” MacCready knew Nick was really going to make sure MacCready didn’t try to make a break for it. To be fair, it was a valid concern. Nick let MacCready sit down on the living room couch before they left so he could slip on his long-sleeve shirt and put his shoes on his feet. Nate let him borrow a pair of socks that he likely had no expectation of being returned. Before MacCready and Nick departed Nate shuffled up behind them, looking at MacCready in a way that announced he was unsure of how to handle the conversation he wanted to have. Finally, he figured himself out.

“I’m sorry about… the letter thing,” Nate said sheepishly. “I really didn’t have any bad intentions taking it.”

MacCready sighed without thinking. He caught himself and tried to be polite to the man who had saved his life. “I know Nate, you never do.” 

Nate, at the very least, had the decency to look like he felt guilty. For what specifically, MacCready could only guess. A little part of him hoped it was for everything - a little part of him felt the same way. 

Nick turned around and began to walk, expecting MacCready to follow. MacCready waited in the doorway for just another minute, looking at Nate. He’d hated this guy for a year now. Nate was stupid, careless, stuck in his own head, and focused more on his own morals than on his actions. Regardless, the man saved his life. MacCready knew it was only because Hancock had asked - Nate did just about every job the mayor put in front of him - but no one had told Nate to keep that letter.

Honestly, that  _ should _ piss MacCready off even more; Nate going out of his way to be kind to people he didn’t like was his most irritating quality. But somewhere in his traumatized, drugged mind, he remembered the moment where he had been certain he was about to die. MacCready had been sure up until now it had been part of his dreams - he had had no idea how Nate knew his kid’s name, nor how he could understand him through the strangled choking. He remembered putting all his energy into his last words, desperately hoping that someone,  _ anyone _ would take care of his son. He needed to know Duncan would be okay without him. 

He remembered a large, rough hand taking his, a voice gently telling him not to worry.  _ “Duncan’s going to be fine.” _ The words were said with such certainty that MacCready had no choice but to believe them. If that really had been it, that was the one thing he wanted to know before he went. It was good to find out that it hadn’t been an empty promise or an end-of-life hallucination. For all his stupidity - and possible insanity - Nate was a good person. He would have made sure Duncan didn’t suffer because his father was a piece of crap who made poor choices. 

“Nate,” MacCready said, addressing the man standing awkwardly in the doorway with him. “I appreciate the save, man.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Nate said with a small smile. "I'll see you around the neighborhood."

"Yeah," MacCready nodded and headed off to follow the ever-patient Valentine back to the clinic. 

It had been the first civil words the two men shared with each other in over a year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of part one! I hope ya'll enjoyed it. I'm going to post the sequel and prequel to this fic in a few days, so check the series if you want to see more. Until next time <3

**Author's Note:**

> 40k words in and I'm still not sure if I'll ever end up writing Nate and MacCready getting together XD.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the read!


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